The Anarchist
by Digsy
Summary: The arrival of a violent anarchist in Liberty brings our silent gunman into action and grabs the attention of an ageing Florida crimelord. New Chapter, Chapter 6 posted!
1. Bad Press

The Anarchist  
  
Chapter 1 - Bad Press  
  
He slowly inspected himself in the mirror, hair freshly cut and face cleanly shaven. He took one last breath and left the apartment, he would be considerably richer when he returned. It had been planned for a month now and tonight would see them plans come to fruition.  
  
It was a crisp September night, the full moon cast a watchful eye over the few citizens that roamed Liberty's streets. The city was still recovering from the month's of bloodshed caused by Liberty's underworld. Rumours had circulated through the tabloids that a lone gunman brought it all to a brutal conclusion with the destruction of a helicopter near the dam that lead to further innocents being killed when it hit the floor. Travis Winters was recalling these events in a dimly lit office, the Liberty Tree journalist was proofing an article on the gunman. Travis hated the guy, he was a vigilante. He took every journalistic opportunity to savage his actions and had just completed another attack. After one last check Travis switched off his computer satisfied with his scathing piece of writing and rose to his feet. Checking the room he realised he was the last person in the office and muttered curses about the others' lack of dedication.  
  
The target from his apartment was a short drive away and he pulled up outside within a matter of minutes. A light was still on in the office upstairs and he spotted a silhouette shuffling around. The engine was quickly switched off, the kuruma door slammed shut and the office entered.  
  
Why the hell had they fired the security guard? Doing the rounds pissed Travis off, it wasn't his job. It was the price he paid for working such hours and always being the last to leave the office. From his workstation he shuffled through the office into the lobby. Glancing around he saw nothing, the can machine glowed in the corner and the ceiling fan continually hummed in its mesmerising fashion. Just one other room to check he thought, the printroom. He strolled over to the over side of the lobby and went through the door. Nope, nothing here. He was walking back to the door into the lobby when a light switched on outside. Puzzled he shouted, "Who's there? Joan is that you?" He spotted the guy as he was opening the lobby door. The figure stood there. Deathly silent. The man was dressed in a dark jacket with brown pants. He had shortly cut dark brown hair. SHIT! It was him!   
  
"I don't agree with your articles about me in the press and I'm here to express my...dissatisfaction." At that the figure thrust a hand into his jacket pocket and clasped a handgun that began gleaming in the harsh office light.  
  
It took three bullets, two for the journalist and one for the surveillance camera just as planned. The gunman darted out of the office back to the kuruma. He now had to make his way to the docks at Portland for his payment. The car screeched to a halt by the harbour, there was no-one around as expected. He could hear the waves lapping against the harbour and the trawlers out at sea. Not far away was the piercing call of a police siren, a familiar sound in Liberty. He cautiously walked up to the harbour's edge, he hated it round here. From the shadows behind him a voice rasped, "Is it done?" The gunman deftly pivoted round to see the small familiar figure in front of him, he relaxed.  
  
"Yes, Winters is no more."  
  
"Did you shoot the camera after you shot him?" the voice was became harder. "Did you?"  
  
"Yes, yes. Just like you said" the gunman replied.  
  
"Excellent" the small figure returned back to the shadows.  
  
"Hey! Where the hell's my payment?" the gunman shouted at the darkness. His reply came in the sound of two muffled shots, both in the head. Back in the shadows the gun was swapped for a cell phone,  
  
"It's Darkel" the voice rasped. "Yes they're dead, both of them."   
  
It was blustery by the harbour, the cold air was biting. A small cigarette light sparked in the shadows and the glare from the cigarette's cherry meandered slowly through the trucks and trailers to a waiting vehicle. 


	2. A Wake Up Call

The Anarchist  
  
Chapter 2 - A Wake-Up Call  
  
"Liberty City has been left reeling after the mysterious gunman came out of hiding yesterday to murder a journalist. Travis Winters, a writer for the Liberty Tree and a strong opposer of the gunman's recent actions was killed in cold blood last night at his office. CCTV footage clearly shows the act of murder and the both the gunman and Winters..."  
  
"WHAT?" Vince was so astounded he couldn't contain the outburst. How the hell could this be true? The guy they were talking about was him! Vince continued to watch the news report, some grainy video clips were shown before the murder. Shit, the guy looked exactly like him! After his final act of venegance against Catalina, Vince decided to lay low in Shoreside Vale. He was letting the commotion settle before deciding on whether to follow leads in Liberty or whether to leave altogether. Now he didn't have a choice, he rose from the couch grabbed his jacket and hastily left the apartment.  
  
***  
  
He'd been sat by the subway station in Chinatown for a couple of hours now. Every five or six minutes more of Liberty's filth would wander out into the sunlight from the platform below. Darkel watched them all in contempt, he despised them . He pulled back his shirt sleeve to glance at his watch and smiled, just hours to go the little man thought...  
  
***  
  
For all the informers on the streets Vince had learned practically nothing about last night's events. The only thing he gleamed from them was that a mercenary had arrived in Liberty about a month ago, he couln't even get hold of the guy's name. Still clueless and a little deflated Vince wearily drove back to his apartment near Belleville Park. As he turned into the alley off 27th street Vince noticed a neighbouring window by the apartment was dimly lit. When he moved into the property all them months ago he was clever enough to secretly buy the rest of the block under different names. Whoever was up in the apartment that overlooked him had no reason to be there. Vince slowed the Banshee close to a halt and fixed his eyes on the window. Seconds ticked by. The drapes in the window started to twitch, instinctively Vince ducked beneath the dashboard. He heard the windscreen shatter above him. Damn, he was trapped. While squirming to the door on the passenger side he fumbled for a molotov cocktail in his jacket pocket. Luckily the shooter above hadn't thought to aim for the engine and then leave Vince to fry into the leather seating, maybe he wanted his death to go unnoticed. Vince slowly reached a sweaty hand over to the steering wheel, he groped for the right lever. Bingo! He slammed the lever forward and two beaming shafts of light from the headlights surged at the shooter. Vince sprung to his feet and from the Banshee hurled the cocktail at the window. Seconds later the bottle smashed and ignited t, cries of agony rose from inside and a figure ravaged in flames toppled out the open window into the rubbish below. Vince dashed over to the man and stamped the flames out, the sniper was barely alive and barely breathing. "Who are you?" Vince demanded. The only reply he received was heavy wheezing. Vince left the blistered man to die a slow death and made his way up to the charred apartment.  
  
***  
  
Darkel checked his watch again, only minutes to go now. The sun was slowly setting over Chinatown and left a crimson glare on the ornate rooftops of the market. Now it was only a matter of seconds. Sure enough a booming explosion resounded in the subway station below, a trail of flame pierced the station's entrance and rose into the street nearby. Darkel started the engine and quickly drove off.  
  
***  
  
Vince entered the empty apartment and surveyed the damage, luckily the flames had only licked the area near the window. A precision rifle rested on a tripod by the window and appeared to be quite undamaged. Vince averted his eyes to a coffee table, there was a Trade Fair magazine resting on the cheap wood. The front page was advertising a huge legal conference to be held at the AmCo builing in the Torrington area of Staunton Island. Guest speaker at the conference was to be the infamous ageing legal practioner Ken Rosenberg from Vice City. Vince took the magazine in interest from the table and left for his own aparment across the alleyway.  
  
***  
  
In no time at all the subway bombing sprung onto every local television channel in Liberty City. The incident was being blamed on the gunman as part of a revenge campaign against Liberty City, LoveMedia in particular was squaring blame on him. Their emergency broadcast was frequently interrupted by a solemn Donald Love stating "As a leading candidate to be mayor in this fine city I pledge to use all my powers to find the criminal responsible for these terrible acts of violence." Darkel watched all this and smiled again to himself, the seeds were being planted. 


	3. Southern Uncomfort

The Anarchist  
  
Chapter 3 - Southern Uncomfort  
  
Vince had been studying the Trade Fair magazine for a number of hours now and was still trying to find its significance. The legal conference at the AmCo building was the magazine's main feature and begun tomorrow with an introductory speech from Ken Rosenberg. He had no other option other than to check the place out, it was now eight at night and the conference started tomorrow at nine in the morning. He left the apartment to survey the building overnight.  
  
***  
  
Darkel had awaited a phone call from his assassin for hours now. The man he chose was competent enough yet he wasn't suprised to learn that the gunman had killed him, he was very skilled after all. Darkel just hoped that there was no connection with either himself or his next target.  
  
***  
  
The night had shown no signs of activity, in fact Vince had fell into a slumber in the early morning. It was now eight, the conference began in one hour. Flocks of people sharply dressed in suits were pouring into the AmCo building. There was a huge crowd around Ken Rosenberg when he finally arrived, the man hadn't changed in over twenty years, he still lived in the eighties. Just after Rosenberg entered Vince spotted a small man in green overalls walking towards the entrance. He was wearing narrow oval sunglasses and was carrying a rather large briefcase. The guy looked suspicious and Vince readied himself for when the mystery figure left the building.  
  
***  
  
How incompetent Darkel thought. A poor reproduction of a security pass had easily allowed him access into the conference. He'd chose a maintenance room to leave the explosives and hastily left. Triumphantly he lit a cigarette at the steps by the building's entrance. The wind had picked up and Darkel had to clasp his hands round the lighter and lower his head to light the damn thing. It was when he looked up that he saw a man climb out of a banshee with an assault rifle in hand. Without thinking Darkel pulled his own weapon from his holster.  
  
***  
  
Vince took no chances when he saw the small man in green leave without the suitcase. Although Vince was quick to fire some shots off the man managed to snipe him in the arm. Vince dropped to safety behind the banshee in agony. He glanced at the wound and saw the blood gushing onto his jacket and onto the paved concrete. While clutching the wound the attacker sprayed a round of bullets at the bonnet of the car. Vince peered at the area and saw smoke bellowing from the multiple holes, he sprung to his feet and dashed to safety behind a taxi that was parked nearby. While catching his breath a car screeched away from the building, Vince cautiously rose to his feet, the attacker had fled. A deep tremor then shook the area and the lower section of the AmCo building became engulfed in flames. Endless rows of windows shattered, the shards soared through the air. The sturdy concrete structure began to buckle and the building fell into itself. The monstrous roar of the bomb drowned out the cries of its victims. Vince stood and witnessed the event dumbfounded, the bastard had just massacred hundreds. He forced the taxi's door open and sped off.  
  
Vince had spent the rest of that day and the following night at the nearby hospital having his arm tended to. He'd managed to spin a story about being caught up in a gang war, the doctors had asked no more questions. Exhausted Vince got back to his apartment near Belleville Park, he walked through the door. He heard the door slam shut and felt an overwhelming force from behind around his neck, someone had been waiting for him. A huge man threw him to the floor and stuck a gun in his face, Vince froze from the shock. He then heard another man, "Pull him up."   
  
"Yes Mr Vercetti" the grunt replied. Vince was picked up to face the command-giver. He was in his fifties, grey hair and sharply dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. He had the look of a dangerous man. He stepped forward to within inches of Vince's face and cooly said "You are giong to pay for killing Ken Rosenberg."  
  
***  
  
Donald Love was caught up in numerous press conferences following the bombing of the AmCo building. This was his final conference and he was making his closing statement. "Mayor Philips is doing nothing about this terrible spate of violence. Make me mayor and I pledge to capture the man responsible. Over the past year he has worked in allegiance with Liberty City's organised criminals and initiated gang wars that have killed many innocent people. He killed a journalist in cold blood, he killed fourty three people in a subway bombing earlier this week and just yesterday killed another seven hundred. We know this man has been active for nearly a year now yet the mayor never takes any action. He is incompetent. Give me the power and I will make your safety my number one priority." A hall of supporters sounded rapturous applause at Donald Love's speech. He left the podium in a defiant manner and thrust his arm into the air. Love quickly left the building and stepped into a waiting limousine. "Well?" a waiting voice rapsed.   
  
"Your work is reaping dividends" Love replied. Two champagne glasses clinked as the vehicle drove off. 


	4. Underworld Amalgamation

Chapter 4 - Underworld Amalgamation  
  
The imposing figure of Florida's most prominent drug lord sat staring intensely at Vince, while his brutish associate stood just feet away pointing a colt python at his face. Tommy Vercetti had made himself comfortable in Vince's lazy-boy, "Twenty years ago I'd have whacked you before the door had closed behind you, but it seems I'm mellowing as I grow older and wiser." Vince didn't reply but simply stared defiantly at Vercetti. "So I'll let you plead, beg and protest your innocence before my good friend Rosebud here pulls the trigger. My therapist says this approach makes me a more complete person." At this Tommy roared with laughter as Vince started to squirm nervously. He waited for the laughter to subside,  
  
"I didn't kill the lawyer," he coolly replied. Tommy remained silent and rolled his eyes, both him and Rosebud shared a glance of boredom. He rose from the chair, strode over to Vince and lowered to meet him slumped against the wall. Tommy then began to speak softly,  
  
"I was expecting you to be a bit more, well, impressive. After all the bombing of a building that size surely requires some talent!" Vince didn't reply. Vercetti then sighed to himself and gestured to his bodyguard, "I'll wait for you in the car Rosebud, but don't take too long yeah?" Rosebud simply nodded. As Tommy made for the door Vince started,  
  
"Twenty-four hours. Gimme twenty-four hours and I'll have the punk who killed Rosenberg. It was him that shot me. I know plenty of sources who'll help me track him down." Vince was starting to sweat profusely in anticipation of his death and Tommy's reply.  
  
"I'll give you two. Two hours to gimme some answers. Now get up off the floor and enlighten me!"  
  
The mafia, yakuza, cartel, they were all the same Darkel thought. All guided by rules and traditions of pomp and circumstance, the underworld had now become a thing of glamour, not like it was back home. Back there it nay not have been pretty but it was efficient. It pained him to have to deal with these amateurs but he was under order and it was part of Love's great scheme of things. Representatives of all three of these organisations had been called to a meeting he was holding, they had been battered into submission by that gunman and no longer hold any authoritative weight in the underworld. "None of you know me, nor need to. I'm simply a mouthpiece that is here to put forward an offer. I'm sure you are all aware of the mayoral elections that take place in a few days and how likely it is that Donald Love will be elected. You're all smart enough to know that Mr Love is a worldly character and isn't always above the law. So it wouldn't be surprising to know he would like to offer your organisations the chance to continue in operating but in a more regulated fashion." The three listeners looked puzzled, Darkel passed folders to each of them, "These are Mr Love's proposals, in a nutshell he wants you to form into one body with each faction controlling a certain aspect in the city." This provoked a degree of anger in the ambassadors, the mafia member spoke,  
  
"You expect Sicilians, Japanese and Colombians to work in peace and harmony? Ha!"  
  
Darkel responded, "Well from where I'm sitting it seems you have no choice. Either you all work under Mr Love in a profitable and safe environment or enjoy the luxuries of a jail sentence you will no doubt receive when a tougher policy of law enforcement is drafted." Now the Japanese ambassador responded,  
  
"Bastard! You can't blackmail us! I should have you killed for such dishonour!" Darkel began rasping uncontrollably, then his tone changed from amusement to menace,  
  
"Oh you fools! I'd rather see you all dead and crush your pitiful operations, and that will be arranged if you don't agree." The three ambassadors knew they had no choice, they were too weak to fight each other let alone the LCPD. It was with heavy hearts that they signed.  
  
Vince's banshee screeched to a halt outside a decaying tenement block in Newport. "So who are we here to have a friendly chat with?" Tommy enquired.  
  
"A Yardie informant by the name of Marcus. The junkie's nclued up and will sing like a canary" Vince replied. All three left the car and stepped up to the door, Vince buzzed the intercom.  
  
"Who there?" an absent voice asked.  
  
"It's Vince."  
  
"SHIT!" the intercom went dead and a door slammed somewhere inside the building.  
  
Vince instinctively hurled himself into the door in a bid to chase Marcus down. "Stand back ya prick!" Tommy shouted. He pulled out his colt python and blasted the door by the lock, it lurched open. Vince charged through and up the stairwell, "I'll bring him down" he yelled back. Rosebud followed him while Tommy waited patiently. Tommy was busy reloading his gun when a Yardie appeared from round the corner, the guy stopped in his tracks at catching sight of him,  
  
"SHIT!" he squealed. Marcus grasped a pistol from his jacket and took a pot- shot at Vercetti while fleeing. Bullets soared above Tommy's head as he fell to his knees. He slowly took aim at the running Yardie and shot him in the calf, he fell like a rag doll. Tommy walked to car and started it up, he drove straight for his target stopping the vehicle on his legs. The Yardie lay half-crushed under the banshee gasping in pain and writhing on the floor.  
  
"Now then Marcus you're going to answer a couple of questions for me, ok?" The junkie nodded desperately. Vince and Rosebud had reappeared from the flat to witness Tommy's interrogation. "Now tell me, who the hell blew up the AmCo building punk?"  
  
Marcus quickly answered, "He have no name man, but d word goin round is dat he heads d three big players in Liberty. Dat's hot off the press, only just found out. Now please! Get the motor off me legs!"  
  
Tommy raised his colt at the informant and put him out his misery, he then turned to Vince. "Well it seems you were right but you ain't out of this mess yet. We've got vengeance to wreak." He lowered his gun and offered his other hand, the pair shook. "Now Rosebud, find me another god-damn car!" 


	5. Saint Marks Reunion

Chapter Five - Saint Marks Reunion  
  
Vercetti's ogre of a bodyguard had jacked a Sentinel for the trio. Rosebud took to the wheel while Tommy and Vince sat in the back. "We're going into Saint Marks in Portland, follow this road over the bridge." Tommy directed.  
  
"You know Portland?" Vince asked.  
  
"Yeah quite well. I used to work in Liberty City a long time ago, but I stumbled across a couple of erm problems that lead to me moving to Vice City." Tommy replied.  
  
Vince tried to push the issue further, "Care to elaborate on those problems?"  
  
"Well let me see, I remember a problem regarding betrayal and then imprisonment." Tommy stated in a deadpan manner. "But I wouldn't be the great majestic man I am now if it wasn't that old mafia manner of sticking the knife in a hard working company-driven employee. I personally would have just preferred an end of the month bonus" The Sentinel was cruising over the Callahan Bridge into Portland. It was nearly dusk and the amber light was soothing the grimy appearance of Liberty City's industrial district. Pimps, prostitutes, the homeles, dock workers, all of the island's most respected clientele were out this evening. "Much doesn't change eh?" Tommy mused. The car had entered Saint Marks, along the pavement tired Italian labourers were closing their stalls, they didn't notice Tommy, Vince and Rosebud. Someone else did.  
  
"IT'S THAT BASTARD! HIT THE CAR! HIT THE CAR!" A mafia hood had been watching over the market when he had spotted Vince in the Sentinel. He'd reached for his shotgun leaning against the lampost and fired from the hip. The shot tore one of the back tyres into tatters and alerted both the Sentinel's passengers and all other hoods along the road.  
  
"Holy shit!" Tommy screamed. "Pull over Rosebud!" The car performed a hand- brake turn and screeched to a halt in the middle of the road, shot after shot hit the car and smoke was bellowing from every crack and groove. Tommy and Vince dived out of the car but Rosebud failed to follow. The car erupted into an explosion charring the leather seat covers, the pine tree air freshener and one of Tommy's most devoted bodyguards. They both managed to tumble into an alleyway and took brief refuge behing a dumpster. Tommy gasped for breath, "You got a shooter kid?" Vince simply nodded and slapped a magazine into his one of his two handguns. They heard the growing noise of many footsteps funneling into the entrance of the alleyway.  
  
"We know you are down here so give up and you will die gracefully with honour. It's the least we could do after you killed our Don." the hood snorted. There was another dumpster sitting under scaffolding on the opposite side of the alleyway, Vince leapt sideways to the other dumpster and shot wildly at the group of hoods, landing in a heap. Three of the suits fell into a crumpled heap and sent the remaining hoods to the entrance of the alley.  
  
"Good work kid!" Tommy shouted. "And when the hell did you kill Liberty City's Don?" He shot a look of bewilderment and mild admiration towards Vince.  
  
Vince just shrugged, "It's a long story." They both heard the clink of something landing nearby them, "GRENADE!" Vince cried. He glanced from around the dumpster and spotted it feet away, there was no time to throw it back, he leapt into the big fortified dumpster. The grenade exploded leaving Vince nursing a headache inside the steel tub and Tommy thankful for it not being thrown near him. He heard the hoods coming back into the alley again.  
  
"We got the son of a bitch he jumped into the dumpster!" one hood shouted. "Are you sure he's on his own?" another asked. "Yeah the other one was charred in the car." the first replied. The three remaining hoods ran over to the dumpster. Tommy still in hiding noticed the scaffolding above the dumpster, it was about three storeys high and directly above both the hoods and the dumpster Vince was hiding in. He leant from his cover and began shooting furiously at the catch keeping the tread boards above the hoods aloft. It twisted and four sturdy planks along with countless pipes toppled onto the hoods.  
  
"I see the mafia still isn't spending the time and money to educate you guys eh?" Tommy went over to the dumspter and gave it a knock, "You can come out now." Vince opened the dumpster and recovered himself from the daze that the grenade had triggered. Tommy began to help him out of his shelter when both froze still, a shot gun had been fired. Both looked to the entrance of the alleyway to see a looming silhouette.  
  
"That's as much fun as you will have on my streets, now drop those fucking weapons." Vince recognised the voice as belonging to Tony Cipriani, the new Don of Portland's mafia. Vince and Tommy dropped to the floor and lay face down.  
  
"Forgive me for not introducing myself properly, but I'm currently compromised," Tommy commented.  
  
"Cut the wisecracks smartass," Tony shot both a glare, lingering on Vince then shifting to Tommy. "I recognise the punk lying next to you, but not you."  
  
"The name's Vercetti," was all that Tommy offered.  
  
"Tommy Vercetti? The Harwood Butcher?" Tony said nothing else and walked over to Tommy and stamped on his back. Tommy felt the crushing force and began to wheeze. Cipriani delivered the same treatment to Vince then called upon two hoods. "Get them in the back of the car," he commanded.  
  
***  
  
"Good evening Liberty City and welcome to Channel 6 News brought to you by Love Media. Here are tonight's top stories. Police are still hunting for the fugitive responsible for bombing the AmCo building earlier this week. The Mayor has come under increasing pressure to find the fugitive and curb the worrying increase in crime on our streets. His main candidate in the upcoming elections Donald Love today unveiled his proposed plans in cleaning up what he described as 'the criminal filth that is infecting our citizens and our children'. Our mid-week polls show that Donald Love is set to achieve a landmark victory and nothing short of a miracle will save the current Mayor."  
  
***  
  
Tommy had been pistol whipped after his beating by Cipriani. He awoke in a blur and found himself bound and tied to a chair in what looked like a mansion. Tony Cipriani sat opposite him waiting. Tommy's throat was burning and he struggled to speak, "What's with the mafia hopsitality, it's such a rarity these days."  
  
"Oh don't worry Vercetti I won't disappoint you but I decided we needed a good chat for old time's sake." Cipriani said softly, dripping with menace. "And don't start with your threats, you may run Vice City but it's me that controls the blocks you're sat in the middle of."  
  
"So what shall we discuss Tony? Oh how's St Marco's Bistro, is the spaghetti still to die for?" Tommy had perfected his razor sharp wit over the years.  
  
"I want to know why the hell you went on that massacre that forced the mob into two factions. You caused a lotta hell that day, a lotta hell. All the men that died in the Forreli-Leone war, Christ I was killing people I grew up with." Tony began to seeth on the anger that the memories were invoking.  
  
"Look Tony you weren't the only victim of that mess. Sonny Forreli had set me up for the fall, I did time for the bastard. Why do you think he sent me to Florida? To stop me mouthing off!" It wasn't just Cipriani who raged on this issue, Tommy had bad memories too. "Anyway there's other things happening which was why I was in Saint Marks, I was coming to see you. Except I didn't know I was riding with Salvatore's assassin."  
  
"Don't mention that bastard! I've got to deal with him yet. So what was so pressing that you had to call upon the establishment you publicly denounced years ago?"  
  
"Some guy is triggering incidents around Liberty, he blew up the AmCo building the other day. Word is he is running you guys now."  
  
Cipriani froze in both fear and humiliation, "How the hell did you know? It's bullshit, I prepare to take orders from no-one. No-one!" Tony fell into a senseless and booming rage he began screaming obscenities and slipped into a lecture with Tommy. Tommy looked away in familarity and boredom, Cipriani was always a boring long-winded bastard. He looked over toward the patio doors leading out into the garden, there was something out there, he couldn't quite make it out but there was a figure outside. "AND FOR THE LAST TIME TONY CIPRIANI BOWS DOWN FOR NO MAN, NO MAN!" The ornate glass doors smashed open, a small imposing figure garbed in green stepped in, he held a silenced pistol on his hand.  
  
"Is that so Mr Cipriani?" the figure spoke.  
  
Tony spun round to meet the voice, "Darkel? What the.." The bullet sunk into his neck, the sentence ended in a blood-curdling gargle, he sank to the floor, crimson frothing from his mouth.  
  
"He always was to rebellious for my liking." Darkel said to his now reduced audience in a rasp. "Thomas Vercetti, Florida's most powerful man sat in bonds. It seems too easy." A smile spread across his face as he raised his pistol to meet Tommy's head.  
  
"Well go on you son-of-a-bitch, you'll hear no pleading from me." Tommy spat defiantly.  
  
Darkel slowly begun to squeeze the trigger but felt a crushing blow to his back, he'd been shot. Behind him stood Vince with a newly acquired pistol, taking from the dozing hood left to watch him during Tommy's interrogation. Darkel slumped to the floor without a sound. Vince ignored Darkel for a moment and went to help Tommy. "Who the hell's he?" Vince asked while slashing the rope binding Tommy to the chair.  
  
"Darkel, apparently. Cipriani knew him, well did." Tommy replied. He was now free and stood up to stretch his legs. "So what do we do with are double-act here? Is the crusher still here?"  
  
"Yeah, never seen so much action." Vince replied.  
  
"No kidding" Tommy said.  
  
***  
  
They lugged both bodies into two Sentinels parked in the drive and each drove one down to the crusher. Tommy's passenger was Darkel, he drove at a leisurely pace enjoying the delights of Flashback FM. He was driving down Portland's Main Street when he heard the sirens behind him beckoning for him pull over, "For fuck's sake!" he muttered to himself. The cop walked over to Tommy's window.  
  
"Do you know how fast you were going back there sir?" the cop wasn't a fountain of youth Tommy noticed, in fact he must soon be pushing retirement. Tommy noticed his badge, it read DEMPSEY.  
  
"If it isn't Sergeant Burt Dempsey! How's it goin Burt? You still taking bungs these days?" Tommy asked in between beaming at the cop.  
  
"What the... Tommy Vercetti! Well seeing as it's you I'm sure we can come to an arrangement." Dempsey replied.  
  
"Here's a bundle for ya." Tommy reached into his pocket and pacified the police officer. "See ya round...ya prick!" Tommy sped off leaving the cop to count presidents' heads. He eventually reached the crusher to find Vince had already disposed of his car.  
  
"Where the hell have you been?" Vince asked. He didn't wait for answer, he noticed something sticking out of the car's boot. "That's odd" he said.  
  
"What? What?" Tommy asked irritably. They both went to the boot and Vince opened. "SHIT!" they both gasped. All that was there was a bullet-proof vest with one bullet indentation in the back. 


	6. For Sale

The Anarchist For Sale  
  
Darkel had easily managed to escape from the boot of Tommy Vercetti's car. Their arrival at the Saint Mark's mansion was totally unexpected; he would have to be more careful now that he had both Liberty and Vice City's most dangerous men after him. The challenge greatly thrilled him. Darkel had managed to escape to a safe house in Chinatown and began to update his employer on the situation, "The Portland mafia has been put into administration, and the path is open for you to clear up." "Excellent," Donald Love replied. "I will just point a couple of well-known law enforcement officials in the right direction and we can wipe Portland's slate clean. That just leaves the major gangs in Staunton and Shoreside, I can deal with the Colombians through money alone but the Yakuza will need softening up." "Not a problem" Darkel rasped.  
  
"Right, all we know so far is that someone is pulling the strings of Liberty's underworld and goes by the name of Darkel. Your knowledge is better than mine kid so you will have to enlighten me, Tommy looked over to Vince. "There were three major gangs in Liberty before I arrived, the Mafia, the Yakuza and the Cartel. Now while the Cartel was gaining strength the other two were losing it. All three have been hammered in the past year and are now at their weakest. That bastard has timed his actions perfectly. It was him I saw that day when the AmCo building went up." "Shit" Tommy mused, "This is worse than I thought. Get some stuff together kid, we're taking a trip to Florida." "What? We can't leave now, we need to track that bastard down!" "Yeah and it will be a hell of a lot easier if I bring back some of my men, so get packing!"  
  
Darkel was impressed by the quality of his suit; Love new some good tailors he thought to himself. Briefcase in one hand and cigarette in the other Darkel climbed the steps to the entrance of what was called Kenji's Casino in Torrington, now imaginatively called Liberty City Casino. He pressed the buzzer poking out from the marble wall. "Liberty City Casino. Can I help you?" a voice asked. "It's Darkel, I'm here for a meeting with Mr Taku." The voice on the intercom lost its cordiality, "One moment please." The door buzzed and a well-groomed Japanese attendant in a suit as sharp as Darkel's opened the door, Darkel could see the shape of an Uzi in the man's jacket. "We've been expecting you, please follow me." Darkel followed the attendant through a grandly furnished hall and up an imposing staircase to Jason Taku's office, the new head of the Yakuza. The attendant opened one of the two heavy wooden doors, gestured Darkel into the office and closed the door behind the visitor. Jason Taku stood staring at a monitor in a wall of monitors; he was observing the action at a roulette table downstairs. The office was empty except for Taku and Darkel; the head of the Yakuza was so arrogant and sure of his safety here that he didn't allow bodyguards to enter, foolish, very foolish. "What can I do for you Darkel?" an exasperated Taku asked while continuing to observe the action on the floor. "Firstly you can do me the courtesy of turning to face me and not being so ignorant" Darkel shot. Taku turned to look at Darkel in a slow, smooth motion and met him with an icy smile. "I'm here to collect some documents." Darkel continued. "And what documents would they be?" "I want all paperwork concerning your finances and not just for the casino but for your other activities. I also want a comprehensive list of all your contacts and employees in the city that are on your payroll." "Whatever for?" a stunned Taku asked. "Because I'm shutting you down" now it was Darkel who smiled. As he rested his briefcase on the huge desk before him and began to open it, Taku exploded. "Who the hell do you think you are? You can't walk into my casino and make such demands, connections or no connections!" Darkel looked up from his opened briefcase, "Are you a gambling man Mr Taku?" the remark stunned Taku into silence, "I have a card in my hand and I would like you to guess its suit..." Darkel raised one hand to reveal a concealed playing card; he raised the other to reveal a crossbow. "...I do hope you guess correctly." Taku stood motionless at the other end of the long desk, he had broke out into a cold sweat and began to stammer, "Wh wh what the hell is this!?" he pleaded. "It's very simple Mr Taku, guess the suit and you live, you have a one in four chance, quite respectable odds." After some panic-stricken thought Taku finally responded. "Sp..sp..spade it's a spade!" he cried. Darkel stopped smiling as he temporarily held a look of disappointment, he slowly turned the card around into Taku's view to reveal a joker. Before Taku could react Darkel shot the crossbow, an arrow sunk into Taku's throat. Taku fell to the floor choking and gargling amid a pool of hot sticky blood. While he continued to writhe on the floor for a final moment Darkel walked over to him, "Surely you already knew Mr Taku...the house always wins!"  
  
It didn't take very long to rifle through Taku's desk and to find the required documents. After depositing them in his briefcase Darkel removed both of the Uzis from inside his suit jacket and prepared to make his exit from Taku's office.  
  
Tommy had sent word ahead for his private jet to arrive at Francis International Airport. Upon landing on Escobar's runway Tommy was back in a familiar position at the top of the power pyramid. A small convoy waited by the plane, a black limousine and two patriots; all bulletproof. One man stood apart from the bodyguards, Tommy's deputy. "Avvon! How are ya?" Tommy beamed. "Good to see you sir, everything's been running smoothly. Wait. Where's Rosebud?" Tommy let out a nonchalant sigh, "Well we were involved in a minor road traffic accident so I'm going to need a replacement. But don't worry about that, that can wait, we've got more pressing issues." He then gestured towards Vince, "Avvon this is Vince, Vince..?" "Andrews" Vince added. "This is Vince Andrews" Tommy continued. "He was Ken's supposed assassin as I explained over the phone and is now our man in Liberty. He's been up to a lot recently, hell, he whacked Salvatore for Christ's sake!" Tommy couldn't conceal his growing admiration for his young associate. "No shit!" Avvon mused. "I'm Avvon Brasi, Tommy's deputy. Listen boss before we get to work on out-of-city affairs we've got a deal to straighten with Alberto Cousins." "I that you had that done and dusted yesterday." Tommy voiced in a slightly irritable manner. "You know what he's like, the slippery French bastard's been pushing for more money, and he knows how to drive a hard bargain that's for sure!" Avvon pronounced. "Well we will have to tell him the decision is final, sort a chopper out Avvon I want this dealt with swiftly. Come on Vince you can be in on this." After quiet observation Vince dutifully followed Tommy and Avvon toward the helipad.  
  
Jason Taku's bodyguards hadn't tested Darkel, the elite Yakuza were decimated during the recent gang wars so he had fought a bunch of average hoods that had been drafted into the Yakuza stronghold. He now sat amidst opulence in one of Donald Love's numerous luxury penthouse suites. "Here are the documents you requested" Darkel passed to the briefcase to Love, "the Yakuza have been decapitated and are ripe for harvesting. How did affairs concerning the Colombians unfold?" "Smoothly" responded Love, "Expect some high-profile arrests over the next couple of days. I've had a company purchase both the mafia and cartel mansions, the casino will follow shortly. Are our occupants ready to inhabit their new homes?" "I spoke with them a short while ago, they are on their way from Eastern Europe as we speak." "Excellent" Love replied while pouring himself and his employee a drink, "Excellent."  
  
The meeting with Alberto Cousins was scheduled to take place at Vice Port; Tommy had made preparations to have law enforcement sparse in the area. The helicopter landed in an opening by numerous and faceless warehouses and hangars. A couple of cars were waiting; it was Cousins and some of his hired protection. While the chopper slowly descended toward the ground Tommy turned to Vince, "Me and Avvon are going to take a backseat in this meeting. You're gonna handle it so I'll give you a few pointers. Cousins is a stubborn bastard, we don't know of many people who could get him to change his mind without filling him full of lead. Now we're gonna pay whatever he asks within reason but I wanna see if you can get him to reduce the asking price." Vince allowed a short silence then quipped, "No problem. I want you to do something for me, when the chopper lands leave the rotors spinning." The helicopter finally landed, Vince and two of Tommy's bodyguards stepped out and towards Alberto Cousins, a tall lean man with long hair tied back into a ponytail. Tommy and Avvon observed from the helicopter, Avvon broke the silence, "How d'ya think he'll do? I think he's of too quiet a demeanour for such persuasion." Avvon looked towards Tommy waiting for a response and was met with Tommy grinning ear to ear. "Well take a look out of the window!"  
  
Vince had it all worked out before uttering a word to Alberto. He instructed his bodyguards to hold Alberto's heavies at gunpoint. The helicopter engines made talk practically impossible out in open ground so Vince took a pen and paper out of his pocket, wrote a figure and passed it to Alberto. Alberto snatched the paper from Vince's hands glanced at the figure and began to laugh contemptuously. While Alberto was shaking his head in bewilderment at Vince's offer, Vince grasped the Frenchman's ponytail that was flapping in the ferocious winds. He spun round behind Alberto clasping an arm in a python-like grip, now with one hand restraining Alberto and the other holding his hair he moved towards the rear rotor of the helicopter. Alberto began to squeal and tried to squirm out of Vince's restraint but to no avail, Vince had forced Alberto's head to within feet of the savage-sounding rotor. Alberto's hair flapped over his face into the rotor, strands of it swirled through the air. Before long Vince had promptly returned to his seat inside the helicopter with a new deal established to the admiration of Tommy and Avvon. "Now" Tommy began, "let's prepare for our return to Liberty."  
  
Shouldn't be much longer, Darkel thought to himself. He sat in the shelter of his sentinel outside the torrent that had befallen Liberty, parked up outside Francis International Airport. He turned the radio on to try and stem his impatience,  
  
"...with the mayoral elections now just two days away and Donald Love expecting a landslide victory, what measures can citizens expect to be taken to tackle the alarming rise in organised crime? After the local sport and weather we have an exclusive interview with Donald Love..."  
  
Darkel promptly changed the radio station; he had no desire to listen to Love in sound-bite mode. Some moments later he received a phone call, "Darkel, it's Mikhail. Where are you?" the voice on the line enquired. "I'm waiting outside in a black kuruma" Darkel answered. Within minutes two tall, burly figures swaggered over to the waiting car and stepped inside. It was Darkel who spoke first, it's good to see you my brothers, it's been so long!" The car sped off through the grey drizzle. 


	7. The Great Betrayal Of 1971

The Anarchist

Chapter Seven - The Great Betrayal of 1971

Liberty City's underworld during the seventies was a far cry from today's myriad of clans, hoods and lowlifes. Back then the criminal organisations were truly organisations. It was the Italian or rather Sicilian-Americans that dominated Liberty in the form of the Cicci mafia.

Don Cicci was one of them great leaders you read about in books and see in the movies, he held together a number of families over Liberty's number of districts, and evoked the adoration and respect of the qualified and the everyday citizens. To be honest though I never really got to know the guy, he was always in the distance. My dealings were him were strictly formal, such as the acknowledge of me becoming qualified. The Cicci family grew from Saint Marks marketplace, the hardened and earthy migrants from Sicily who had witnessed countless brutalities at the hands of the original Mafia were the lifeblood of Portland's fledgling district. Weary of small-time extortionists harassing their weaker friends and stallholders, three of the prominent businessmen forged Liberty's first main Mafia, they were Nuno Cicci, Salvatore Leone and Sonny Forelli.

I first became involved with the Cicci organisation round about the time I hit twenty, selling newspapers lost its charm fairly rapidly and it was a chance encounter with Sonny Forelli that changed my career. The guy oozed charm and confidence, I thought to myself here is a man that's going places and I wanted to go with him. I started off as a driver, pretty low-key, it mainly consisted of chauffeuring the senior members of the Forelli regime around. I should probably explain these regimes. Cicci had divided his organisation into two regimes headed by Salvatore and Sonny, Sal ran the traditional areas of business like the gambling and protection rackets, Cicci chose Forelli to govern the areas that were less traditional. Sonny's main dealings were in vice and then narcotics, Cicci purposely distanced Sonny and moulded the regime into an image that was less public than Sal's. Cicci was clever enough to see where the future of the family lay, but didn't want its unsavoury reputation too near to him. This was a major sore point with Sonny, although it wasn't a personal approach by Cicci to distance Sonny, it inwardly annoyed the hell out of him. Sonny lived for sex and drugs, he was immersed in them and ran business out of them beautifully, Cicci's distancing of Sonny was in a way a compliment as the guy had done so damn well! With the family split the way it was the was a fair bit of rivalry between the regimes that was for the most friendly, but had the potential to burst into something ugly, it was for this reason that Cicci liquidated his own regime and used these men to dilute the other two, so to maintain a sense of neutrality.

Like I said, I started off as a driver and I stayed that way for some months until I was forced into a state of action that was far more involving. It was just an average Wednesday night, and I was taking Sonny to some girl's place near the docks like usual. What I didn't know was that Sonny had leant pretty heavily on some pimps earlier that day, well, by 'leant' I mean Sonny had left one of them with a permanent limp through the aid of a baseball bat. Anyway I pulled up at this hooker's apartment, leaving Sonny to lumber out of the vehicle and plod inside to satisfy his urges. He'd only been gone a few minutes when a car roared to a halt behind me, I'd glanced in the mirror to spot three pissed off looking guys clamber out the car, and I noticed that one had a distinct limp, but that hadn't prevented him wielding a sawn-off shotgun. Thank Christ the punk had a lousy aim, he fired the first shot over the car giving me enough time to leap out and seek refuge behind a wall surrounding the apartment block.

'OK you guinea bitch, you and your pal upstairs are gonna pay for the fact I now walk with a fuckin' crutch!' the guy with the limp bawled. I didn't dignify him with a reply but fumbled for the pistol in my jacket pocket. The wall I was hid behind was about seven foot tall with a cast-iron gate that I'd slammed shut, it was the only thing protecting me. I heard the other two making their way towards me, so I readied myself and sprinted for the gate. I dove through the air from one part of the wall to the other firing fiercely while passing the gate. I heard one of the pimps hit the floor crying in agony. The other burst through the gate but I was more than ready, three shots in the chest saw him off, leaving just my friend the cripple on the other side of the wall. I decided not to waste any time and grabbed the dead pimp at my feet, the lone survivor was obviously waiting for me to pop my head round the side of the gate to blast it off my shoulders, so I hurled the body instead. The cripple fired through instinct giving me time to dash round and take aim at his good leg. I left him to writhe on the floor in agony and waited for Sonny to come down and investigate the noise, I wasn't waiting long. Sonny promptly appeared and instantly recognised the punk on the floor,

'Well whad'ya know! It's my limping friend Benny! Tommy pass me that crutch he dropped will ya?' I tossed the crutch to Sonny, which he used to administer a sound beating. Benny was smashed to a pulp and choked on his own blood, spluttering and gargling to the end, soaked in a shade of crimson.

That incident with the three pimps allowed Sonny to see my true potential, if I were to use his words. In truth though I was thrilled that he'd taken such a liking to me, God I was dumb back then, but then we all are till are eyes are opened, and mine were opened big time. So I started to climb the career ladder, within a year I went from driving cars to whacking people, there's nothing like professional killing to harden the heart. It's them good old days in the death profession that's produced the fine shining example to society I am today. And the best lesson I was given by life was on May 2nd, 1971, the day of the Harwood Massacre. By 1971 the balance in the regimes had reversed, the narcotics trade had boomed and Sonny was now commanding more men and holding more blocks than Sal. It had been a gradual thing over five years or so and Sonny was now practically second-in-command behind Don Cicci. Where was I? Well I was right next to Sonny on that climb and I loved it, the power I had and the respect I commanded, it was great! Little do I know that Sonny had loftier ambitions and he was more than willing to screw everyone else to achieve them. On the day of the massacre Sonny came to me and gave me a job, 'We've got a problem' he said. 'Some Sicilian upstarts have arrived in Portland and have started leaning on my men. Go and make an example of them. And Tommy, make it messy, NO ONE EMBARRASES ME, NO FUCKING ONE!' He left the address with me, an apartment block in Harwood. That night I went to Harwood and shot the shit out of about five people. Excuse my inaccuracy; I struggle to remember specific details on a hit. The press the next day reported eleven dead, eleven! Now I'm no fucking mathematician but I can determine the difference between half a dozen and a dozen for Christ's sake! The other five or six that were found weren't just unknown Sicilians new to Liberty, they had ties to the Don. There was Cicci's two nephews and his godson discovered lifeless in that apartment. Before anyone had got wind of this the next morning I'd mouthed to some of the guys in the family where'd I'd been that night. That next day was a whirlwind, I woke up to a squad of LCPD storming my pad and I was thrown in the nick before I'd opened my eyes properly.

What happened after that was never clear inside, I waited fifteen years until I was given the full and complete story. My 'killings' triggered a war in the Cicci family that Sonny was more than ready for. The family was ripped apart, Cicci was gunned down, body after body was found in the water and it was all at the hands of Sonny Forelli. I figured out pretty sharpish Sonny had set me up so I kept silent, played stupid and waited...

Vince had listened intently to Tommy's account, and was fascinated to learn the truth about the Harwood Massacre and its link to the Mattress Wars of the seventies. What Tommy had told him, had been told to no one else. Vince could see in Tommy's eyes that hurt and hatred still burnt from Sonny's betrayal, a flame that wasn't extinguished even when Tommy slain Sonny fifteen years ago in Vice. 'What a fucked up life' Vince thought, a thought inwardly shared by Tommy.


End file.
